Something Always Remains: Short Stories
by Nightmare1
Summary: A collection of miscellaneous short stories as an aside to Something Always Remains
1. Chica Toy, Part 1

**Summary:** A collection of miscellaneous short stories as an aside to Something Always Remains.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for swearing, violence, and occasionally touching on uncomfortable themes. Or, to put it more bluntly, I at times briefly address the fact that attitudes and culture in the 90s and back were more overtly racist, sexist, and homophobic than they are today.

**Genre:** General

**Disclaimer: **_Five Nights at Freddy's _belongs to Scott Cawthon. The name of Mike Schmidt is his too, but the character interpretation is completely mine. Also, I know the main character in the books is named Charlotte (and goes by Charlie). I had mine first and refuse to change it. XP

**Background:** I write too much good stuff, and have spent so much time in this AU that my brain still occasionally goes, "here's a thing that totally happened."

* * *

**A/N:** I actually really, _really_ wanted to put this one in the main story, and it broke my heart to have to cut these scenes, but every memory in the main story ties to another plot point or two in some way, and these really only served to pad out Mike's background. It worked better in the main story better to just briefly mention what happened to Mike's parents when needed and move on.

This is also the only short story broken into parts. Collectively, it's longer than most chapters in the main story.

* * *

**August 1975**

For the last two years, he saved for this. Every birthday party he attended, every special occasion, Mike played games, saved his tickets, and religiously kept count to be sure he would have enough. And today, the prize he lusted after would finally be his, the one toy he wanted since he was five. He worked hard to do his chores and earn this night out. It would be worth cleaning the bathroom twice a week and helping his mother rearrange the kitchen.

"You've got quite a collection there, sport," Johan said, in his mild German accent.

Mike held the plastic bag tightly to his chest, clutching it like the treasure it was. And he brought his backpack to contain his prize once he acquired it.

"It's got to be enough," he said.

"What are you getting, sweetie?" his mother asked.

"...A toy," Mike said, awkwardly.

He wasn't sure how his parents would take it. He already planned to keep it hidden from his friends so they wouldn't make fun of him, but he had his little heart set on it, no matter what. So his best option was to get enough tickets, and get his prize when no one was looking. Then his parents couldn't take it back, because they couldn't get the tickets back.

"Which toy?"

"You'll see."

They pulled to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Mike unbuckled his seat and practically flew out the door, eager to play games and finally collect his prize.

"Michael!" his father scolded.

But Mike was already at the front door and eagerly trying to yank it open with one hand, ticket bag clutched in the other.

"Mom! Dad! Come oooon!"

Charlotte chuckled as she tucked a strand of her long black hair behind her ear. With her blue eyes, there was no mistaking which parent Mike better resembled.

"Better do as he says, Johan," she said.

Her husband rolled his eyes.

"Some days, Charlotte, I wonder where he gets the energy."

Johan helped his son get the heavy front door open.

"Michael, why don't you go watch the show while your mother and I find a table?"

"But I don't _want_ to watch the show! I want to play games."

"In time, son, but we have to wait in line to buy tokens first."

Mike frowned, but grudgingly obliged. His mother gently took his backpack and tickets to hold at the table while his father went to get the tokens and order a pizza. Feeling a bit dejected that things weren't going as planned, Mike took a seat towards the back of the crowd of other children, ready to run to the games when his father returned with his precious tokens.

"It looks like we have time for one more song," Freddy said, his animatronic eyes looking over the crowd. "Which one shall we sing?"

"Oh! I know!" Chica said, brightly. "How about 'Pizza My Heart'?"

"Don't you mean 'Piece of' my heart?" Freddy asked.

"Isn't that what I said?" Chica asked, brightly.

"You must have a piece of pizza on your mind," Bonnie said, gently.

Some of the kids in the audience laughed, along with a few parents playing along. A few adults at a nearby table groaned, not bothering to hide their true reactions to the exchange.

"I _do_ love pizza," Chica agreed, "but do you want to know what I love _more_?"

"What?" the other two asked.

"All of our _wonderful_ guests that came to see us today!"

Chica looked over the crowd, pointing to various cheering kids.

"I love you, and you, and you-"

Mike watched as the animatronic pointed to him next, ducked down a little to avoid the other children looking at him. He was seven, after all, not a baby like a six-year-old!

"-And especially _you_! All of you! You're _all_ very special, and a piece of my heart!"

"I think we have our song, Freddy," Bonnie said.

"I think so, too, Bonnie," Freddy agreed. "Why don't you start us off?"

The bunny nodded, started to play a tune on his guitar. Mike paid very little attention to the song and its silly lyrics, just looked up to see if his father got the tokens yet. And while he ducked down a bit when Chica pointed at him, secretly, he enjoyed her attention. It made him feel a bit special.

Johan came back to the table with the tokens and the pizza receipt. He laughed as his son darted for him and hugged him tightly, then took the tokens.

"In a rush there, Michael?"

"I have to get more tickets!"

"All right, all right."

Johan handed the tokens to Mike.

"Just don't spend them all on one game, sport."

Tokens in hand, Mike made a beeline for one of the games that he knew he had a good chance of scoring plenty of tickets on.

"I wonder what toy is so important that Michael's in a rush to get it."

Charlotte just shook her head, pulled a novel out of her purse.

"You have to admire his work ethic," she said. "It's almost cute that he wants to get it himself."

Johan nodded in agreement, letting his wife have her moment of peace and relative quiet. He himself just enjoyed watching his son have fun and play.

"With determination like that, Michael will succeed at any job he chooses."

Over the next two hours, Mike played hard, taking breaks only to run over to the table to drop off his tickets-and keep the correct count!-and barely sat down for ten minutes to eat two slices of pizza ("Mike, I'm not cooking when we get home, and you're not going to bed hungry. Sit down and eat your dinner!"). Here and there, his father tried his hand at some of the games, giving any tickets he won to Mike.

After nearly twenty minutes on the same game, Mike hit a jackpot, his blue eyes bugging out as he watched stream after stream of paper dispensing from the machine. He dashed back to the table once he ripped the last one from the game, clutching two hundred tickets in his arms.

"I can get it!" he said, excitedly, stuffing the long threads of paper into the plastic bag.

"What are you getting?" Charlotte asked, looking up from her book.

"I'll show you," Mike said, grabbing his backpack, "but no peeking."

"All right, Michael, we promise. Go get your toy."

Mike beamed, and ran over to the prize counter. Only a few other children were there, deciding on cheaper prizes. He hung back, wanting them to get their toys and go away already, so they wouldn't see what he picked. Behind the counter, two employees, and blond man and a red-haired woman, worked to fill the demand. The man noticed Mike and his ticket hoard, and knowing that counting that stash would take longer than usual, decided to assist his small guest at another part of the counter.

"Hey there, young man," he said. "How can I help you?"

Mike noticeably stayed away from the other children, kept his voice down. He pushed his ticket bag up onto the counter, the thing practically overflowing with them.

"Oh my, that's a lot of tickets!"

Mike nodded.

"There's 1,647 in there," he said. "I kept count."

The man eyed the bag, pulled out some streams of tickets and quickly counted about half of them before turning to Mike.

"I believe you," he said. "What can I get for you?"

"Don't laugh," he said, sternly.

"I won't laugh," he promised. "Which toy can I get for you?"

Mike looked at the shelf behind him, pointed to a specific row of plushies.

"...I want one of those."

"Chica?"

Mike quickly looked over to make sure the other children didn't hear, then nodded to the man.

"Yes."

"Are you sure? Most little boys want Foxy."

"I want Chica," Mike said, feeling his face flush. "Please."

The employee caught on, but nodded.

"All right," he said, and noting Mike's discomfort, quickly grabbed one of the stuffed Chica toys from the shelf and slid it over the counter for him to grab. The delight in his eyes said enough as he quickly put it in his backpack, overjoyed to finally have it. The employee gave him a warm smile.

"That was 1,500 tickets," he said. "You still have 147 left, but I can round it up to 150. Would you like anything else?"

Mike looked over the other prizes for a few minutes, then settled on two sheets of stickers and a small bouncy ball, which also went right into his backpack.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, and thanks for coming by!"

Mike held his backpack in his arms and practically skipped back to the table. Johan looked up when he saw him coming.

"What did you get, sport?"

Mike clutched the backpack tighter, felt his stomach clench. They were going to find out sooner or later. He decided to just get it over with and climbed up into his seat. Slowly, he opened his bag and pulled out the Chica plushie. Johan reacted about as he expected.

"A girl's toy? Michael, take it back and get one for boys."

Mike's eyes dropped to the table, the delight they held before gone just as quickly.

"I...I like Chica," he said, quietly.

"You're not a girl, Michael. Take it back."

Charlotte gave her husband a small glare.

"It's just a stuffed animal, Johan. He'll grow out of it."

"He should be getting the fox! Or even the rabbit!"

"Johan, stop it! You're upsetting him!"

Charlotte moved her chair closer to Mike, then put an arm around him.

"Why did you pick Chica, sweetie?"

"Because she's colorful and nice," Mike said, feeling his face grow warm again, "and loves everyone, and I like her purple eyes. ...And I like her cupcake. It's always smiling, and it's so soft!"

He let his mother feel it to make his point.

"Those are all very good reasons," Charlotte agreed. "It's good to be nice and smile at other people, isn't it? It makes other people feel special."

She then turned to her husband.

"Wouldn't you agree, Johan?"

Her voice was calm and sweet, but held a distinct, "don't you dare make our son cry" undertone.

Johan sighed, knowing he wouldn't win this battle.

"Fine," he said, "but next time, get the rabbit."

Mike quickly put his new toy back in his bag as his parents gathered their things. He zipped it tightly, then threw it over his shoulder, before he glanced over at the stage. The band was finishing up another show, and about to play "Pizza My Heart" again. This time, Mike actually listened to the chorus, even as he walked with his parents to the front door.

"No matter what you do

No matter where you go

We'll never be apart

Because it's plain to see

You will always be

A very special piece of my heart."

"And you'll always be a piece of mine too," Mike said, quietly.

He waited until the car pulled out of the parking lot to pull the Chica toy out again, properly held it in his arms for the first time. The soft plush and squishy interior were just as he imagined they would be, and while he would be asleep before they got home, even Johan had to smile at the glimpse of his son in the rearview mirror, curled up in the back seat with his new friend


	2. Chica Toy, Part 2

**Thursday Afternoon, November 9, 1978**

The doorbell rang in the Schmidt household.

"I'll get it!" Mike called.

"Thank you!" Charlotte called from the kitchen. "Just let Rhonda and Susan in, and I'll be right there!"

Mike slid down the banister on the stairs - something he knew his mother would disapprove of if she saw it - and jumped onto the second-to-last step, before he cleared the rest of the way in one more leap. She spoke for weeks about this visit, and had explained that she was seeing an old friend from back when she was in school. He got to the front door, unlatched the chain, and pulled it open.

A tall, plump woman with short, curly blonde hair stood before him, in a bright yellow coat over her brown pants and matching fashion boots. She painted her eyelids a bright blue, and her pink lips bordered on neon. Beside her was a blonde girl, about five or six, with her curly hair done up in a ponytail, her just as curly bangs pinned to the side. The girl carried a pink Barbie case that almost perfectly matched her own coat.

Mike looked at them both warily, but before he could say a word, the woman was already pushing her way in.

"Oh, you must be Michael!" she said brightly, her perfectly manicured fingers suddenly gripping his cheek in a tight pinch.

Mike winced and tried to pull away, but the woman's other hand gripped his shoulder.

"Oh, let me get a good look at you," she continued, thankfully letting go of his cheek. "I haven't seen you since you were teeny-tiny!"

She gripped his chin to make him look up at her, then ran her nails through his black hair.

"God, you look a lot like your mom. Didn't get too much from your dad, though."

Mike pulled away from her, already disliking this woman. She reminded him of those overbearing aunts he saw on TV sometimes.

"M-Mom…!"

"Just a second!" Charlotte called, and he heard the sudden clatter of a piece of silverware hitting the ground. "Rhonda, hi, come on in!"

"Already am, Lotte!" Rhonda called back, before turning her attention back to Mike. "Just admiring your handsome son!"

Mike uncomfortably shifted away from her, but Rhonda seemed undeterred as she gestured him to the little girl with her.

"Mike, this is Susan. Say hi."

"...Hi," Mike said awkwardly.

Susan grinned brightly.

"Pleased to meet you!" she replied, giving him an exaggerated curtsy.

She then held up her Barbie case.

"Will you carry this for me? Mommy says a gentleman should _always_ help a lady."

Mike obliged, but only because it gave him an excuse to move away from Rhonda.

"You can put your coats there," he said, pointing to the foyer closet, "and the living room's over here."

Rhonda nodded and shed her coat, revealing a patterned blouse and several chunky necklaces underneath.

Mike walked into the adjoining room and set the Barbie case by the TV. By now, Charlotte emerged from the kitchen, her long hair in a low ponytail, her longsleeved green dress swaying at her knees. She carried a tray of warm tea, sugar, lemon, and cream, which she set down on the coffee table. Her eyes lit up when she saw her friend, and walked over to hug her as soon as Rhonda had her coat hung up.

"Oh my god, it's been so long!"

Rhonda hugged her back.

"I know, hasn't it? I'm so glad to see you again! And for Susan to finally meet you!"

Rhonda took her daughter's coat, and Susan - now in white leggings, a white cardigan, and a pink dress - gave Charlotte another one of those exaggerated curtsies.

"I am pleased to meet you," Susan said, with practiced delivery.

"And you too," Charlotte said. "And you met Mike, right?"

Mike decided to stay in the living room, though he felt Rhonda's attention immediately go to him upon hearing his name.

"Of course she did!" Rhonda said, before her daughter could get a word in.

Susan nodded in agreement.

"He carried my Barbies for me," she said sweetly.

Charlotte smiled, and lead the two of them into the living room.

"That was sweet of him. Why don't we have some warm tea, and catch up for a bit?"

"Oooo, a real tea party!" Susan said excitedly.

Charlotte got her a cup first and even got one of the throw pillows from the couch for Susan to sit on. Mike hung back a little awkwardly. His mother caught on.

"Mike, I think I left the cookies in the kitchen," she said, giving him a small out for a moment. "Why don't you go get them and bring out a few plates?"

He nodded, and slowly went to do as she said.

"What a good boy you have," he heard Rhonda say. "And so handsome. Wouldn't it be nice if he and Susan got together when they're older?"

Charlotte laughed awkwardly.

"I think we should enjoy them as children," she said. "They grow up too fast."

Mike slowly pushed the stepstool against the counter so he could reach the smaller snack plates on the middle shelf, carefully listening to his mother and Rhonda and intentionally taking his time as he pulled them down one by one.

"Besides," he heard his mother continue, "we have some catching up to do first. How have things been?"

Mike almost felt relieved as Rhonda began to talk about her rich husband and the opening of her new beauty salon, because it meant her focus wouldn't be on him when he got in. He carefully held the snack plates in one hand, and grabbed the tray of raspberry cookie bars his mother made that morning. When he returned, Susan was pretending to look interested as her mother prattled on, while Charlotte sipped at her own tea.

"Thank you, Mikey," Charlotte said brightly.

Susan grabbed for a cookie, and greedily shoved it in her mouth, which got her a stern look from Rhonda.

"Susie!" she exclaimed.

Susan swallowed, then grinned.

"Sorry," she said. "May I have a cookie?"

"You already did."

"May I have _another_ cookie?"

Rhonda smiled sweetly at her daughter as Charlotte placed two on a plate and handed it to Mike, who for his mother's sake, sat down beside Susan.

"Oh, I suppose."

Charlotte handed a plate with one more cookie to Susan, then prepared the remaining plates for herself and Rhonda.

"I really wish Johan wasn't working today," she said. "I know he'd like to meet Susan."

"Well, my Walter's away on business, so you know how that goes," Rhonda replied.

Charlotte noted Susan's interest remained solely on her snacks, and while Mike politely obliged her, she knew both children would be happier elsewhere.

"Mikey," she said, "will you take Susan to your room and play with her while Rhonda and I talk for a little while?"

Mike frowned, not liking the idea at all. He doubted Susan wanted to play with his race cars or Star Wars figures, which were more fun than stupid Barbie dolls.

Then again, staying here meant being in the same room with Rhonda and her pinchy nails.

"...Okay," he said, immediately getting up to pick up the Barbie case.

He then motioned for Susan to follow.

"Come on."

Susan grinned and stood up, dusting the crumbs from her dress. She practically skipped up the stairs as she followed Mike.

"You can be Ken, Mike," she said cheerfully, "since you're a boy. He's got different outfits, but not as many as Barbie."

Mike pretended to listen as they got up to his room. He opened the door to let her in first, just as Dad taught him.

"Okay," he said, "but don't touch anything."

Susan skipped inside, and Mike followed after her. He immediately set her Barbie case on the floor near the toybox. Maybe he could convince her to let Barbie fight Darth Vader, and immediately opened his toy box to find the figure that would best match Barbie's height. Susan parked herself down by the Barbie case and, now warm from her tea, pulled off her cardigan. She started to open the case when she caught a bit of yellow and pink on Mike's bed. Now curious at the obvious oddity among the dark blue walls, space posters, cars, and dinosaurs, she immediately ran to grab the plush Chica from it.

"Oh, she's so cute!"

Mike looked up from the toybox, and quickly dove for the bed, trying to get to Chica first.

"Don't touch!" he cried. "She's special!"

But Susan already had her in her arms, and was enjoying the soft plush. She clutched Chica tightly and stepped away from Mike.

"You're too old for dolls," she said. "You should give her to me!"

Mike glared.

"Put her back. _Now!_"

"But I want to play with her!" Susan cried. "You shouldn't have a girl toy anyway."

Mike grabbed one of Chica's arms and tried to pull her away from Susan.

"Let go, Susan! She's not yours!"

"No! I want to play with her!"

Mike tugged, managing to pull Chica halfway out of Susan's arms. Susan pulled harder, trying to keep her grip.

"I'm the guest so I get to play with her!"

"Not if I say no!"

He gave a forceful yank, trying to get Chica away from this six-year-old terror. Susan returned in kind, enough that he heard a seam pop.

"Susan, let go! You'll break her!"

He swore he saw Susan smile right before she tugged again.

"Then you better let me play with her!"

"Don't you dare-!"

She dared.

With all her might, Susan yanked Chica away, practically throwing her weight to the ground. The seams couldn't take it and the plush toy split down the middle, stuffing bursting out onto the floor. Mike stumbled back into the bed, still clutching his half of Chica. Susan sat on the ground, smiling.

"Nevermind. You can have her."

She tossed her half aside, the little pink cupcake still attached to the arm. Mike just stared in shock for a moment, at the pile of fluff on the floor, at Dulcie smiling up at the ceiling, unaware that he sat on a now dismembered yellow arm, then at Susan calmly opening her Barbie case to get her dolls.

Then, all he saw was red.

Whatever came over him, he didn't know or care. Mike approached her, and the next thing he knew, a sharp _slap_ echoed in the room. He ignored her wailing as she grasped her stinging arm. She should be grateful. He'd been aiming for her face.

"MOOOOOMMMMMYYYYYY!" Susan shrieked, getting up to run from the room. "Mommy, Mike hit me!"

He heard two sets of footsteps thundering up the stairs as the two _very_ concerned mothers ran to see what was going on.

"Susie!" Rhonda called, catching Susan as she reached the top of the stairs. "Susie, baby, what happened?"

"He hit me! For _no reason_!"

"Oh, sugar. Show Mommy where that bad boy hit you."

Rhonda held Susan close as she showed her mother her arm. The mark was red and already fading, but still stung.

"I don't believe this," Charlotte said, looking over the mark. "Mike doesn't hit."

"Maybe you thought wrong," Rhonda said curtly, then went back to comforting her daughter.

Charlotte ignored her and quietly walked to her son's room, concerned. There had to be more. Mike was usually gentle and quiet; what could have provoked him to do this?

Carefully, she opened the door. She first saw her son's trembling form leaning against his bed, his hands clutching the mattress to keep himself standing. She caught something soft and yellow in one hand, and the rest of it on the floor beside a pile of cotton. A pair of purple eyes and a smiling beak stared up at the ceiling, barely attached to the mangled half holding the little pink cupcake. The "LET'S EAT!" bib barely hung around the remnants of her neck.

She pieced it together almost immediately.

"Oh, sweetie!"

Mike didn't look up as his mother entered the room. Charlotte came over, knelt down to his level and put her arms around him. Mike ignored her, still too angry to register anything but the fluff pile in front of him.

All that hard work to earn her, gone. No more bedtime with his favorite friend. The rest of the Fazbear band sitting on the shelf above his bed were down one member.

"Michael," Charlotte urged, gently. "What happened?"

Mike took a deep breath, still shaking in his mother's arms.

"...She did it on purpose," he whispered at last. "I told her...told her not to touch her, and she didn't listen!"

He tried to hold them back, but hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

"I tried to t-take her back, and she-she pulled until she r-ripped Chica!"

Charlotte held him tighter, ran a hand through his hair to try to soothe him.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she said quietly. "But it still wasn't right to hit Susan."

"I don't care. She sh-shouldn't have touched Chica!"

Charlotte sighed, then reached up to wipe his cheeks. She hugged him again, just letting him get the emotion out. He needed to let the anger run its course so he could calm down. Then they could work on solving this.

"I hope he's sorry for hitting my baby like that."

Charlotte perked up to see Rhonda and Susan standing in the doorway.

"He needs to apologize," Rhonda said, crossing her arms.

"Yeah!" Susan agreed. "My arm still hurts, even though Mommy kissed it better!"

She stood back with her mother, trying to hide the glee at seeing Mike in trouble. Charlotte let go of Mike and stood beside him, then turned to Rhonda with a sweet smile on her face.

"He will," she promised, and Mike winced, "_after_ Susan apologizes first for breaking his toy."

Mike caught the shocked look on Susan's face and shot her a quick smirk. It quickly faded back into hurt and anger, but he felt some relief in that his mother took his side. He turned away so he could wipe away a few more tears. No need to let Susan see how badly she got to him.

"Forget the damn toy!" Rhonda exclaimed. "He's bigger than Susie and he hurt my baby!"

Charlotte stood her ground.

"Your 'baby' broke Chica when she didn't get her way. No, Michael shouldn't have hit her, but she had no right to break his things."

"How dare you, Lotte! Your son's a menace and a bully, and you're letting him get away with it! Over a stupid toy!"

"Yeah!" Susan agreed. "He's mean!"

Charlotte narrowed her eyes and gently pushed Mike behind her. He sensed her growing fury, and stayed back.

"My son is neither, he's _not_ getting away with it, and for your information, it's _not_ just a 'stupid toy'. He earned that toy all by himself. He worked _hard_ to get it, and Susan broke it when he told her she couldn't play with it."

She crossed her arms, and glared down at Susan, who had the grace to shut her mouth.

"Susan owes Michael an apology first," Charlotte continued. "She started it."

"My baby did no such thing!" Rhonda insisted. "He probably broke it himself!"

Charlotte just stared at her, not believing what she just heard.

"_Really? _Did you _see_ what she did?"

She gestured to the fluff pile on the floor near the Barbie case.

"_This_ wasn't an accident."

Rhonda seemed to notice it for the first time. Her eyes went from the fluff, to the head still staring at the ceiling, to the pink cupcake, to the yellow fabric Mike still grasped tightly in his hand.

"...Really, Charlotte?" Rhonda asked, imagining what it looked like whole. "A _baby_ toy? He's too old for stuffed animals. You ask me, he should have just let her have it."

"That's what _I_ said, Mommy!" Susan chimed in. "It's got pink on it too! It's a girl toy!"

She glanced to Mike, who turned away to hide the sudden red flush in his cheeks. He felt his mother put an arm around him, and he buried his face in her waist.

"It doesn't matter," Charlotte said, moving a hand over his back.

She felt her son shudder, and found herself growing more and more frustrated with Rhonda.

"It was his, and she broke it."

"He doesn't need a girly toy!" Susan protested.

"Susan," Charlotte said, "apologize to Michael. _Now_."

"Don't you boss my child around!" Rhonda exclaimed.

"Then be a damn parent and make her own up!"

"Not until he apologizes!"

"Susan has to first."

Charlotte forced herself to keep her voice level.

"Otherwise, you can pick up her things and leave, because I won't stand here while you insult my son when _your_ bratty daughter started this."

Rhonda stood there, her mouth agape in shock as her friend refused to back down.

"He...he _hit_ her!" she cried. "He's what, eight? He should know better!"

"Nine, and yes, he should have handled it better," Charlotte replied. "But what about what _Susan_ did? Shouldn't _she _know better too?"

Rhonda tried to think of a response as Charlotte let go of Mike. She reached down to pick up the Barbie case and shove the few accessories Susan pulled out back inside.

"But she's _six_!" Rhonda sputtered.

Charlotte retrieved Susan's cardigan and shoved it and the case in Rhonda's hands.

"Then she's old enough to understand what 'no' means, and if not, I hope Susan learned a lesson about treating other people and their things with respect."

Rhonda took the case with a glare.

"Make him apologize, Lotte."

"No. Susan started it. She gets to make the first apology."

Rhonda glared at her, then at Mike. She took another look at Chica, and began to smile.

"The way I see it, Susan did your boy a favor. He'll be lucky he doesn't end up a fa-"

Any residual sweetness Charlotte maintained disappeared.

"-Don't you _dare _finish that sentence," she interrupted, darkly.

Mike stepped back. He recognized the shift in his mother's tone, and shuddered, knowing Rhonda just unleashed her quiet wrath. Susan sensed the danger too, and began to edge away from her mother and down the hall.

"In fact," Charlotte said, approaching Rhonda, "get the _fuck_ out of my house and don't ever come back."

Rhonda backed away, clutching the case and cardigan tightly.

"I'm your _friend_! I came all this way to see you, and you treat me like this!"

"After how you treated my son? Not anymore."

Charlotte herded Rhonda out of Mike's room, and towards the stairs. Susan moved ahead so neither her mother nor Charlotte would accidentally trample her.

"I mean it, Rhonda. Get the hell out!"

Rhonda huffed and took Susan's hand.

"Fine," she said. "We're leaving. I never knew you were such a bitch!"

"Well, your daughter's learning from the biggest one here!"

Mike peeked out of his room as Rhonda lead Susan away with Charlotte right behind them, both women still arguing and screaming as Rhonda got her and her daughter's coats. The front door finally opened and slammed shut. Charlotte locked it behind them, let out a frustrated scream, then took several deep breaths. This was _not_ a good example she set, she knew. One damn apology could have avoided all of this, then everyone could have moved on with their day.

After taking a few more minutes to cool her head, she went back upstairs to check on her son. Mike had since moved to sit on his bed, still taking everything in, no longer concerned about Susan breaking Chica, or even Rhonda, but his mother. Was he still in trouble? Should he have just apologized anyway? And was it his fault his mom fought with her friend?

He perked up when his mother knocked on the door frame.

"May I come in?" she asked, gently.

Mike didn't look up, just nodded. Charlotte quietly came over to sit beside him.

"I'm sorry, Mikey," she said softly. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

"...Am I in trouble?" Mike asked, hesitantly.

Charlotte put an arm around him.

"...No," she said, "but next time someone makes you mad, don't hit them. It's not the right way to handle it."

Mike kicked his feet, nodded.

"...I'm sorry," he whispered. "She just...!"

"I know, sweetie, but next time, come to me."

"I will."

He looked down at his feet, at the wooden floor just below them.

"...And I'm sorry I made you lose your friend."

Charlotte let out a long sigh.

"To be honest, Mikey, you did me a favor. I remembered Rhonda was a bit rough around the edges, but I forgot why I hadn't spoken to her in years. I forgot how selfish she is, and I feel bad for Susan. She's going to be selfish too."

She held him tighter and forced up a smile.

"I don't need someone like that in my life. Not when I'm lucky enough to have you."

That actually got him to smile a bit, but one other thing concerned him.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Mikey?"

"What did Rhonda mean? What was she going to say?"

He felt his mother freeze a moment, before her hand gently moved over his arm again.

"...She was going to say a horrible word that I won't have uttered in this household. It...well…"

Charlotte took a moment to collect her thoughts as she tried to find an appropriate way to explain.

"Basically, she meant that liking girl things makes you less of a man, and that you won't like girls when you're older."

Mike gave her a confused look.

"...That's stupid."

"I know."

A frown as she moved to grip his shoulders.

"But I want you to know right now, Michael. You are my son, and I love you, and I don't think playing with toys that make you happy will change who you are."

Charlotte looked down at the pile of fluff that had taken a backseat to the chaos.

"And speaking of…do you want to go to Freddy's this weekend? ...We can-"

"No," Mike said. "I'm...too old for them."

Charlotte felt her heart sink a little upon hearing that.

"...Are you saying that because Rhonda said it?" she urged, gently.

Mike shook his head. Charlotte let him go, then carefully pushed herself to the floor to pick up the fluff and yellow cloth pieces.

"...If you say so, Mikey," she said, quietly.

She turned to her son.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I'm fine."

She didn't believe him.

"All right. Just...come to me if you still need to talk, okay?"

"Fine."

Charlotte just nodded and quietly left the room, managing to shut the door behind her.


	3. The Chica Toy, Part 3

**Thursday Evening, November 9, 1978**

"Johan, I really think I should stay. He says he's fine, but..."

Charlotte stared in her vanity mirror, trying to clasp her gold necklace in place. She had her dark hair in a half-bun, with most of her long locks cascading down her back, practically blending in with her black evening dress.

"Then he's fine, Char," Johan said, fixing his tie.

"No, he's not, Johan. Did you see how little he ate at dinner tonight? Just went to bed after? That's not like him."

"He had a rough day. Tomorrow, he will be better."

"That's a damn lie, and you know it."

"Char…"

Charlotte took a deep breath.

"What's so important about this party, Johan?" she asked, bluntly.

"I told you before, Char," Johan replied, as he adjusted the length. "This could be the key to getting that promotion. I need you by my side."

He came to her, and kissed her cheek.

"And you need to clear your head. We'll handle it in the morning."

"...You're right. But I just...I don't want to leave him tonight. I've had this ugly feeling in my stomach since Rhonda-"

Deep breath. Don't think about it. Just attach the damn necklace.

"God, I never want to see that bitch again. He didn't even want to get a new one."

"Well, she _did_ have a poi-"

"Don't," Charlotte said curtly. "Michael was doing just fine on his own. He put the others on a shelf all by himself, and in time, he would have put Chica with them when he was ready."

She picked up her eyelash curler, just held it tightly in her shaking hand, opening it and closing it in rapid succession.

"She doesn't get to decide when and how he grows up. And you didn't see him, Johan. He was _crying_, and trying so hard not to. I've _never _seen him that heartbroken and embarrassed. I just..."

Her husband gently grasped her wrist, lowered her hand down to the vanity to put the eyelash curler down. Charlotte let him.

"...He shut down, Johan. He didn't want to play or watch TV or do anything. He barely ate anything at dinner, and went to bed early. He's not okay, and neither am I."

Johan knelt behind her and kissed her cheek, put an arm around her waist.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "You're right. She had no right."

For a long while, he just held her. Charlotte reached for a tissue to dab at her eyes, trying not to ruin her make-up.

"...I know he's growing up," Charlotte whispered. "I know I can't stop it, but is it too damn much to ask to let him do it on his own? He's still a child, Johan. He only has a few years left to enjoy it."

Johan nodded, contemplating. He looked in the vanity mirror, at his wife's reflection trying to blink away tears. His eyes moved to his own with his slicked-back blond hair and shaven face, green eyes that betrayed his own sadness. This party meant a lot to him, but...didn't their son come first?

"...Then I think we need to make a special stop tonight," he said, quietly. "We have to be at the party, but we can leave early. They're open until ten, yes?"

"What's open?" Charlotte asked, still too angry to piece it together.

"Freddy's."

Charlotte perked, then turned to face her husband.

"...Yes," she said, nodding, catching on. "Oh, Johan!"

She threw her arms around his neck, still trembling a little.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."

Johan returned the embrace, just kept her close to him. He smiled a little.

"Now think of the excitement after the party. Think of slipping that doll into his bed when we get home. Think of his smiling face when he wakes in the morning."

Charlotte managed a smile of her own.

"I knew there was a reason I loved you."

She kissed him, then turned back to the vanity to finish getting ready. Charlotte picked up the eyelash curler, this time able to hold it without the threat of gouging out her eyes with it.

"And don't forget the fun we'll have when our mission's complete."

That got her husband to both smile and blush. The doorbell ringing was a welcome interruption.

"The babysitter's here," he said. "I'll get it; you finish getting ready."

Charlotte worked on her eyelashes, feeling a little better about tonight.

"Tell her we'll be out in five minutes."

* * *

**Thursday Night, November 9, 1978**

After what happened earlier tonight, sleep evaded him. Mike lied in bed, alone. Freddy, Bonnie, and Foxy all sat on their shelf above him with his rocket ship models. Many of his cars and Star Wars figures sat in their toy box. Tonight, he decided, he had to learn to sleep without any of them. He heard his parents moving around the house, and after a time, heard muffled voices in their bedroom.

Even when his mother's voice occasionally raised in pitch, he couldn't pick out any words, only that his mother was still upset, and his father tried to calm her. He eventually caught a bit of delight in her voice and smiled a little, but it faded quickly.

Just try to sleep.

Pretend they aren't there.

Learn to let go.

The doorbell rang after a time. He pretended to be asleep when he heard his mother come in, smelled her sweet rosy perfume as she leaned down to kiss his forehead while his father greeted the babysitter downstairs. He heard his father come in just a few moments later, felt his strong hand gently ruffle his hair, caught his familiar scent of cologne and cigarettes.

His bedroom door shut, and downstairs, the front door shut and locked. Things were quiet for a few minutes, and then the muffled sounds of late night TV entered his ears.

Mike somehow managed to drift into a light, uneasy sleep as he listened to the drone of the TV. Tonight, it broke at sounds that normally never bothered him.

Like the creaking of the settling house. The clockwork checks as his babysitter, Maisie Day, opened his door a crack to make sure he was still safely sleeping. The doorbell ringing late at night, and the frantic knocking that followed it.

Downstairs, he heard Maisie shifting to get the front door. Mike perked up, rubbing his eyes. The dark hid the time the analog alarm clock on his nightstand displayed, but from the darkness outside and the shadows around his room, he had an idea of the late hour. Curiously, he pushed himself from his bed, his bare feet touching his carpet. Silently, he crept to his bedroom door, faintly outlined from the foyer light.

Mike knelt down beside the door, listened, tried to pick out voices.

He recognized Maisie's soft voice, the strange timbre that gave her voice the effect of a constant cold. Two other voices joined hers, both of unfamiliar men. They spoke in hushed voices, but he swore he heard Maisie say his name.

With a careful grip, Mike reached up to grab his doorknob, his fingers tightening around the cold metal ball. Slowly, he turned the knob, minding the creaking hinges as he pulled the door back. Mike opened it just enough to crawl out, and he stayed down, making his way to the railing on the stairs. He sat against the wall where it met the railing, just listened.

"...upstairs," he heard Maisie say, "sleeping."

Now he caught her voice shaking. Whatever they discussed, it put his babysitter on edge, and he caught her fighting back tears.

"We understand, ma'am," one of the men said, "but this may be the last time he can see them. They don't have much time."

"It's just...oh my god," Maisie said, and this time, Mike heard her sob. "I can't believe this. I just...that poor boy."

Mike dared to peek around the corner, through the gaps in the railing to see what was going on. He caught the back of Maisie's head, her wild black hair spread around her head and shoulders, one coffee-colored hand gripping the front door frame. He caught one of the men she spoke with, his uniform.

What did the police have to do with this?

He caught enough to know that whatever happened, it involved him, bore some sort of bad news.

"I know," one of the officers said. "But the rain on the road and the locked up steering-"

"Please," Maisie said. "I don't want to hear no more. It's going to be hard enough to explain it to Michael."

"Can you get him?" the other officer asked.

Maisie's shoulders shook as she nodded.

"Y-yeah," she said, trying to compose herself.

Mike, more awake now, slowly pieced together the situation. If Maisie was still here, then his parents weren't. The police officers mentioned a car crash, that they had to talk to him…

His blood ran cold as he came to the only possible conclusion. Slowly, Mike rose to his feet, feeling that strange, dizzying sensation of being in a dream, going along with the course because logic and reason played by their own rules. The cold hardwood under his bare feet faded to nothing as he gripped the railing, peered down over the banister.

Maisie barely turned from the door, had her foot on the first step when she saw him up at the railing.

"Michael!" she cried, reaching a hand to her heart. "You're supposed to be in bed!"

Mike's hands gripped the railing as he let himself take the scene in, the fear and sadness in his babysitter's eyes, the mournful looks on the officers' faces, their hats in hand. Everything about the situation seemed to confirm his worst fear. Mike blinked a few times before he spoke.

"...Where's my mom and dad?" he whispered.

"Mike…"

Maisie quickly ascended the stairs, trying to get to him. Mike stood, steadfast, his mind still trying to push the rest of his sleepy haze away. This had to be a dream. He _wanted_ _it_ to be a dream. But the chill of the November wind cut through the open front door and into his face, his hands, as he looked down at the officers. Mike hardly felt Maisie put her arms around him as he repeated his question.

"Where are they? Mom and Dad."

He felt his babysitter tighten her grip around him, caught the sweet vanilla scent she always carried with her, the strange perfume in her wild hair. The officers gently stepped inside the foyer.

"We came to bring you to them, son," one of the officers said, carefully. "There was an accident tonight. Both of them are in the hospital. We don't have a lot of time."

Mike froze, his mind trying to process this.

Only a dream, he told himself.

Only a dream. Only a…

Maisie's grip around him, her attempts to keep back her sobs, her strong scent mingling with the wind from the front door-they all felt too real to simply dismiss. His grip on the railing tightened, and after a moment, he forced himself to nod. His babysitter let him go, started to usher him to his room.

"It's...cold outside," she said, trying to regain composure. "You get dressed; I'll get your coat. Hurry, now."

Numbly, Mike obeyed, wandering to his bedroom. He flipped on the light and shut his bedroom door. He heard Maisie quickly leave, her footsteps like lead pounding against the floor as she ran down the steps. Once more, he stood alone, shaken and uneasy. For a moment, he let his mind just go blank as he stripped off his rocket ship pajamas, quickly pulled on that day's jeans, a shirt, and a sweater.

Only a dream. Please, it was only a dream…

He glanced to his bed, the sheets rumpled from when he kicked them away. The empty spot where Chica used to sit. These two pieces finally cracked through his denial. Mike crumbled to his knees, telling himself it was to try to find his other sock. He knew better. His shoulders shook, and he reached up to wipe his eyes on his sweater sleeve. Vaguely, he recalled one of the officers mentioning a last time.

Were they dying? Dead already?

He tried not to think about it.

Be strong.

Just find the other sock.

Mike jolted as he heard a knock at the door.

"Michael? I have your coat. Are you ready?"

"I just...just need…"

The doorknob turned, and Maisie carefully peeked inside, ready to duck back into the hall if her charge was still changing. Instead, she found him sitting there, with one sock halfway on, the other lying nearby. She pushed the door open, her bright pink coat making her dark skin look even darker in comparison. Maisie came to sit down and help him.

"I know," she said, pulling on his other sock for him, "but we have to go now, Mike. There isn't much time."

"I don't…"

Maisie located his shoes, held one in her hand to help him pull on.

"Don't what, sweetie?"

Mike let her put the shoe on, forced himself to pull the other sock up completely.

"...I don't know."

Maisie quickly tied his laces, got his other shoe on. Carefully, she helped him stand and assisted him with his coat immediately after.

"It's a lot to take in," she said, putting an arm his shoulders. "You won't be alone, Mike. I'll be right there with you."

A glance up to the shelf of stuffed animals.

"...Do you want to bring…?"

Mike followed her gaze, where three of the four plush Fazbear band members sat, their warm eyes and gentle smiles watching over the room. He reached up to wipe his eyes. He started to say no, that he didn't need any if them, that he was too old.

But having something to cling to, a trusted friend with him, overrode his pride.

"Freddy," he whispered quickly.

Maisie nodded and grabbed the bear. She handed it to Mike. Mike clutched Freddy tightly as he took his babysitter's hand to walk with her, down the stairs together to meet the officers. Maisie grabbed the spare house key on the way out, but stayed near her charge. The officers walked on either side, helped them into the back seat of the cruiser.

Mike sat in the back, nuzzled his face into the back of Freddy's soft head.

The bear would keep the others from seeing him cry.


	4. First Meeting

**A/N:** Once Vanna showed herself to be a major player (she originally just existed as someone who Mike cared about, and would notice if he went missing), my brain went crazy fleshing her out. This was originally going to be the prologue for the finalized re-write, but I cut it because it a) it didn't mesh well with the story's pacing, and b) beta feedback amounted to how it seemed too coincidental for Vanna to have Mike happen on her doorstep _just_ when she started to allow Vesper's memory back in her life. It got touched on in-story, though.

* * *

**Wednesday, November 30, 1988**

Mike Schmidt trudged up the last flight of stairs, a large box cradled in his arms. It was the last one, and the one that held his most precious possessions. The day he spent moving wore down on him as he slogged through the door leading into the apartment hall, cursing everything in existence that this place had no elevator.

Only a little further, he told himself. Just a few more steps, then he could unload the box and pass out.

He saw the light shining from the door he left ajar before he saw his apartment number. Mike turned to push the door open with his back and headed inside. He immediately became overwhelmed by the smell of incense and cigarette smoke, instead of fresh paint and chemicals. Over the top of the box, Mike saw a small table with what looked like a disassembled toaster and waffle iron sitting on top of it, their pieces strewn in chaotic organization. To the left, what little he saw of the kitchen counters were cluttered with gadgets, and to the right, leading into the living room, he noticed the sofa serving as a barrier between rooms. It held so many throws and pillows that its original color was lost.

Upon realizing he had the wrong apartment, Mike turned to leave, only to crash into whom he presumed was the apartment's owner.

"Fuck!"

Both of them said it near simultaneously. The box fell from Mike's hands, its contents spewing over the floor. He winced, frozen for a moment as he noticed a few photo frames among them. Only when he saw no shattered glass, and realized he never heard that distinct _crack_ that indicated fractures did he dive down to quickly retrieve his possessions, muttering another curse under his breath.

"Sorry," he said, hastily grabbing for a few framed pictures.

A large, delicate hand retrieved some of the photo frames. Mike wondered if a trick of light gave the skin the dull sheen of antique gold, or if it actually _was_ that strange shade of yellow.

"Wrong place?" a gentle voice asked.

"Yeah," he said, looking up.

Her dark hair came into view first, most of it pulled into a ponytail, the front of it teased to give it more height and volume. Purple lips gave him a soft smile, the color drawing his eyes to them immediately before letting him take in the rest of her made-up face. Her green eyes focused on him, her gaze soft and curious.

"I'm Vanna," she said, handing him a cassette tape.

"...Mike," he said, quickly going back to his task.

Vanna nodded, then went back to helping him, though she made a point to get a good look at her new neighbor.

Black hair, probably combed to start the day, but now falling into his face. Stubble that said he hadn't bothered to shave this morning. A hunched posture, and weariness in his face that made her wonder if he got any sleep. It was his eyes that struck her most. Tired and vacant, as if the life in them since drained away, with dark bags drooping underneath. Even as he collected his possessions, he moved like a ghost with no purpose, searching for something he knew he'd never find.

Vanna felt her heart pang, deciding in that moment that he needed a friend.

"Is this how you always meet a girl?" she teased, trying to lighten the mood. "Breaking and entering?"

Mike awkwardly grabbed another tape.

"...Nah," he said, deciding to go along with the joke. "Usually, I carjack first."

That got a laugh from Vanna. So he had a sense of humor remaining under that husk. Her golden hands found an old leather journal that sprawled open when it fell. Part of a sentence caught her eye.

"..._leads me to last night. The place is under lockdown_..."

Vanna made a point to quickly shut the journal and hand it to Mike. He took it gratefully and quickly shoved it back in the box, adjusting some of the collected cassette tapes to make room. She then picked up one of the smaller framed photos, moving it carefully in case some of the glass came loose. When she turned it over, the face looking back...rang a bell. Vanna stared at it, trying to place where she saw it before. As she mulled it over, the frame slipped through her fingers as Mike snatched it from her hands.

"Sorry," Vanna said softly. "I wasn't trying to pry."

Mike said nothing as he tucked the picture back into the box.

"Would you like some tape?" Vanna asked. "So that box doesn't explode again."

"I can make it home," Mike muttered.

That jogged her memory.

_Home_.

She saw that face about a year ago, in the newspaper, and on the seven o'clock news. It was a huge story in the community, where several people, particularly children, disappeared.

That face in the picture...was among those who never made it home.

"Mike…" Vanna said, quietly.

"Goodbye," he said quickly, moving to stand.

Vanna stood with him and blocked the door. At just over six feet tall, she easily towered over him by about a head, and she caught a flicker of life in his eyes as he registered her full height.

"Hey," she said. "Stay for a bit. I'll put on some coffee."

Mike clutched the box and shook his head.

"No thanks," he said, trying to push past her.

Vanna pushed her hip against the door frame, blocking his path. She gave him her sweetest smile.

"You misheard me," she said, gently. "I didn't ask."

She took his shoulders and turned him around, directing him towards the apartment. Mike started to resist at first, then felt her grip tighten. With a sigh, he resigned himself to his fate. Vanna smiled and guided him forward, kicking the door shut behind her.

"Go ahead and set that anywhere, Mike. How do you like your coffee?"

Mike stared, taking in the cluttered, lived-in apartment. Her kitchen, while clean, had about every useful gadget sitting on the counters, with more barely fitting in the cupboards below. The dining room table he saw earlier, with its broken gadgets, and now a tool kit in sight, was shoved up against the wall. Three chairs surrounded it, the two on either side holding parts, and what looked like a partially built doll.

Over to the right, a large entertainment center held her TV set and cable box, and every remaining inch of space was crammed with books, VHS tapes and various trinkets, a lot of them themed around ballet. More shelves held other possessions around the room, and what few available walls held art, posters, and scarves that hung from the ceiling in a strange array of decoration. The fourth dining room chair was placed by one of the bookshelves, and in addition to the couch, she had a circular purple lounge chair and a black beanbag chair right beside it.

"...Mike?"

"Oh," Mike said, suddenly remembering her question. He set the box down by the lounge chair. "Black, a pinch of salt."

Vanna nodded.

"You okay?" she asked.

He stood again, shaking his head.

"It's okay," Vanna said gently. "I...actually understand."

Mike turned to her, wondering what kind of nerve when she barely just met him...but saw her motion to a picture on top of the entertainment center. Near the top, in a silver frame, two twin girls stood in white ballet shoes, crowns, and tutus. Both looked about four or five, with that strange pale gold skin, their black hair tied up in buns. Bright smiles beamed and green eyes focused as they posed in the fourth ballet position for the picture.

Mike glanced to Vanna, then around the room again. Here and there, he saw a few pictures of Vanna by herself, some of her with friends...but never more than one girl with weird yellow skin and green eyes.

"...My sister never came home," Vanna said softly. "I can't...I can't talk about it. I was only able to put that picture up a few months ago. It's...one of the last ones I have."

She turned to him, forcing up a smile.

"I won't ask," she assured him. "I just...wanted you to know you aren't alone."

Vanna offered her hand. Mike hesitated, but took it. She gave it a firm shake, then let go.

"I'll get started on that coffee."

"Thanks," Mike said.

He carefully made his way to the couch, trying to find a good spot amongst her blankets and throw pillows.

"Oh, and Mike?" Vanna called.

"Yeah?"

"...It gets easier with time."


	5. Puppet and Freddy-bear

**A/N:** I am pleasantly surprised to see many reviewers on the original story (and if you have not read it, definitely do) adored the scenes with Puppet and Miss Bonnie. They were some of my favorite to write, but sadly, not all of them made it in due to (like everything else I put here) not serving a narrative purpose. I meant to post this a _**lot**_ sooner; the papers I wrote it on got lost, and I just found them again.

For newcomers who have not read the main story, Bonnie Wickes is my version of the original owner of Fredbear's Family Diner, and there are several scenes like this one. Puppet's box was also in the back room of the first game's location during these memory sequences, as it was not yet showcased at the time while Bonnie worked out the kinks in its programming. I mention this to give context to this scene.

Any further questions, such as where the Freddy-bear came from, its significance, how this version of Fredbear's relates to the game lore, and why Puppet is there, well...you'll simply have to read _Something Always Remains_.

One more thing: I mentioned it in a throw-away line in the main story, but Puppet has a small toy hoard up in the vents. That should conclude any further questions regarding loose ends this memory may provide.

* * *

_**06/20/1970 07:13:49am**_

_Puppet peered out of its box, staring as it had for the last half hour at the Freddy-bear that now occupied Miss Bonnie's chair. She brought it in today, and placed it there that morning, before going off to start the daily preparations. The Freddy-bear's legs hung over the chair, and its head tilted to one side._

_Miss Bonnie loved it, just like she loved her Freddy. It continued to examine its plush, every stitch, how each fiber caught the light. It catalogued the shine of the purple silk hat and the bow tie it wore. It watched the Freddy-bear's eyes sparkle, intrigued with how an amber highlight moved when Puppet moved its head, the little highlight following wherever it looked._

_As Puppet went over its examination, it assigned words to describe the Freddy-bear:_

_Yellow._

_Round._

_Purple._

_Gold, the word for yellow with shine._

_Shiny, particularly its eyes and accessories._

_Motionless._

_Off._

_Happy, based on its smile._

_Several other words in its internal lexicon came up, many quite similar to the words it already assigned the Freddy-bear._

_Inactive._

_Tall._

_Fat._

_Robust._

_Brown._

_Amber, like the light._

_Smiling._

_In its analysis, Puppet found several things Miss Bonnie could enjoy about it, such as his color, its pleasing shape, and its happy smile. But the Freddy-bear made her cry, too. Puppet since determined that crying, while generally denoting sorrow, could also signify immense happiness._

_The Freddy-bear made her happy enough to break her programming._

_With no more synonyms, and no new information to be gained from simple observation, Puppet pondered its next step. Miss Bonnie held it tightly where she first pulled the Freddy-bear from its box. Perhaps that brought her happiness? The act of holding the bear? Yet on occasion, Puppet held Miss Bonnie, and she reciprocated. Puppet made her happy too..._

_...So what made holding the Freddy-bear different?_

_Puppet lifted the lid of its box a little more as it listened. Outside the room, it heard Miss Bonnie shuffling around and getting things ready for when the children came. Slowly, it pushed the lid all the way open until it rested against the shelf. Puppet then freed itself from its strings and pulled itself out of the box. It crawled to the table where the Freddy-bear sat, determined to solve this mystery once and for all._

_Upon reaching the Freddy-bear, Puppet pulled itself up to level its gaze with the brown, marble-like eyes. Like before, the amber shine seemed to follow everywhere Puppet looked. Puppet tilted its head as it looked over the bear's face. The Freddy-bear simply smiled and stared. Puppet lifted a hand carefully touched the bear's nose._

_It let a out a loud _squeak_._

_In surprise, Puppet ducked under Miss Bonnie's work table. It waited for a long moment, and when neither Miss Bonnie entered, nor the Freddy-bear moved, Puppet peeked out from under the table._

Engage watch_learn.

Engage artificial_intelligence.

_So the nose made noise. Best to avoid it. Puppet cautiously approached the Freddy-bear again, before it gently touched its arm._

_It received no response._

_Daring to test it, Puppet poked the Freddy-bear's round tummy with its long fingers, and found it easily sunk into the plush. More words popped into its mind:_

_Malleable._

_Squishy._

_Soft._

_Puppet curiously watched the Freddy-bear as it poked it again. The bear just quietly smiled. Puppet lifted one of the bear's arms and let it drop. It found the arm just as soft, but just as lifeless._

_Maybe Miss Bonnie enjoyed its softness?_

_Puppet hesitated a moment, then reached up to hug the Freddy-bear like it saw Miss Bonnie do before. It slid its arms under the bear's, rested its head on its shoulder, and gave the Freddy-bear a gentle squeeze to make its arms sink into the plush_.

Engage watch_learn.

Engage artificial_intelligence.

_Puppet gripped some of the plush in its hands. It enjoyed how the Freddy-bear changed shape, then sprang right back the moment it let go. Puppet nuzzled into the bear's shoulder. It created a dent that perfectly fit its mask, then disappeared the second it pushed away._

_Pleased with this discovery, Puppet let go of the Freddy-bear to poke and prod and in different places just to see if any plush kept its imprint. No matter where it touched, the Freddy-bear retained its form. It hugged the bear again and rested its mask in the shoulder._

_Soft._

_The word repeated a few times in its processors._

Engage personality_test.

Processing new information.

Activating emotional_algorithm.

Determining factors.

Processing emotional output.

_Puppet pulled the Freddy-bear off the chair and onto the floor. It positioned its legs around the bear's waist as it hugged the bear again. A delighted chime rang out into the empty room as Puppet squeezed the large plush toy._

_A long while passed before it heard a click. Puppet knew that sound: Miss Bonnie was coming back. Thinking quickly, Puppet ducked under the table and pulled the Freddy-bear with it. The door opened. It heard Miss Bonnie's familiar tread as she stepped into the room._

_Miss Bonnie gasped and quickly stepped towards the desk. She immediately ducked down to peer underneath it _

_"I thought I put it - Puppet?"_

_It stayed back and watched her cautiously. Puppet held the Freddy-bear tighter._

_Miss Bonnie simply smiled as she pulled up an olive-gold hand to stifle a giggle._

_"Having fun, Puppet?" she asked._

_Puppet titled its head. Miss Bonnie watched it for a moment before she rephrased the question._

_"Do you enjoy playing with my Freddy-bear?"_

_Puppet nodded. Miss Bonnie smiled wider._

_"I brought it in to compare it to Fredbear," she said, "but it seems it's already in use. Go ahead and play with it."_

_Puppet let out a delighted chime, then clung tighter to the Freddy-bear, more than content to feel its soft squishiness._

_"I am going to need it back later."_

_Puppet glanced up at Miss Bonnie. It made a point to squeeze the Freddy-bear tighter. It figured out why it broke Miss Bonnie's programming. The Freddy-bear's shape and texture was pleasing to hold. It wanted to have that happiness. Miss Bonnie watched Puppet for a moment. Her smile faded into a look of contemplation, before her face brightened again._

_"Wait here."_

_Miss Bonnie pushed herself up and turned to leave the room. Puppet watched as she disappeared, and listened to her footsteps fade away. _

_It nuzzled the Freddy-bear as it waited for Miss Bonnie to return. It squeezed his plush again, once more enjoying how it reformed as soon as it let go. After a moment, Puppet heard Miss Bonnie return. She held a smaller version of the Freddy-bear in her arms. This one stood about three feet from his purple hat to his golden toes. Miss Bonnie held it out for Puppet to take._

_"I know it's smaller," she said, "but it's just as huggable."_

_Puppet looked over the smaller Freddy-bear. It examined it carefully. The face was a little different, with plastic brown eyes instead of the marbles that shone amber, but it still smiled like the bigger one. Puppet let go of Miss Bonnie's Freddy-bear as she offered the smaller one. And just as she promised, this Freddy-bear squished and retained its shape just like the bigger one did. Puppet chimed happily as it poked and prodded the smaller bear. It didn't fit in its arms as easily as the bigger one, but the bigger one belonged to Miss Bonnie. Puppet couldn't take her gift._

_But now it had a Freddy-bear of its own to examine and cuddle and play with. Miss Bonnie smiled as she watched her creature nuzzle the new bear. She reached under the table to pick it up._

_"I have to get back to work, Puppet," she said as she carried it back to its box, "but you can play in here, okay?"_

_Puppet nodded to confirm. Miss Bonnie set it inside._

_"When you're done," she said, "please return to your default stasis."_

_Puppet again nodded to confirm, then settled inside its box with the Freddy-bear. Miss Bonnie gave it a smile before she gently closed the box._


End file.
